


a buzzing heart

by boopseungkwan (avius)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blink and you’ll miss it angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Lee Chan | Dino-centric, M/M, Making Out, boyfriends being clingy, jeongchan, storage cupboards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21629695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avius/pseuds/boopseungkwan
Summary: chan is a first year physio uni student, so you’d think his life is too busy for distractions.  forgive him, but chan might just indulge in one; specifically a yoon-jeonghan-sized-distraction.
Relationships: Lee Chan | Dino/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 61





	a buzzing heart

**Author's Note:**

> this is for the wonderful mimi who puts up with me yelling about wips i never finish! ily! i hope to u enjoy

It’s the last week of lectures before his midterms for this semester, which is important, because university is important. Because degrees get you places in life, or something. Chan is finding it increasingly harder to remember why, exactly, passing _‘Professionals, People and Healthcare_ ’ is important, with no help from the buzzing of his phone on his desk. The golden-haired pretty girl, two seats down, glares sideways at him as the phone rattles the entire flimsy chair-desk. Chan blushes and bows his head in apology, grabbing the phone to muffle its persistent vibrating in his hand. She smiles in response, glare vanishing in place of something more flirtatious, but Chan is far too distracted to take notes, let alone respond to flirting. Regardless, his hyung might have his head if he tried anything anyway — he’s already annoyed at Chan’s failure to reply immediately at his texts, in favour of attempts to focus on the lecture.

There’s forty texts from the past six minutes. Last weekend, he had not shut up about the importance of Chan’s education, about making the most of learning when he can, but now— forty-one ( _u better answer me lee chan!_ ). Chan shuffles in his chair, checking the time on his screen and trying his best to ignore the almost non-existent notes he has haphazardly taken. It wouldn’t be so bad to leave mid lecture— he’s seen others do it all the time (even if he did glare in disgust when they did). It’s a 9am ethics lecture anyway; 200 odd young adults in varying states of alertness — who’s to say his absence won’t go entirely unnoticed. As quietly as possible, he powers down his macbook and tries to shuffle it into his bag at his feet. The pretty girl from earlier starts staring, obviously equally as bored by the lecturer (currently rambling about something adjacent to the syllabus despite the pressing issue of next week’s exam). The bolt of the chair squeaks as Chan twists his table away, and he cringes at the even louder sound as he lifts himself into a half-standing-crouch. Luckily, the row he’s in is only occupied by a dozen other students, so he takes a deep breath as three more texts buzz in his hand and he prepares to duck and weave. The blond girl strokes his thigh as he walks past, which draws his attention away from the door and converts it into sucking in all his breath to shimmy past the remaining students with as little contact as possible. The heavy orange door at the top of the auditorium is a welcome sight, and he pushes into the deserted hallway with a sigh of relief. He doesn’t want to think about his anatomy lab later today, or his exams next week; Chan only has space in his mind for one psychology senior with rust-dyed hair curling over his brow and a tempting smirk.

As he turns towards the lifts with a vague destination in mind, his phone buzzes once again, the text on his lock screen reading: _your arse looks cute in those jeans._ Chan tries not to laugh as he spins on his heels, walking past the lecture hall door to a narrower, plain white door frame with a sign reading - Storage. Resting against it, arms crossed, eyes dark and hungry, is Yoon Jeonghan in all his glory. 

Chan just giggles and takes his outstretched hand, slipping his phone into his backpack as he’s pulled into the cupboard. 

“Hi, baby,” Jeonghan smiles and attaches himself immediately to the younger’s neck. “Missed you.”

Chan smirks, hands fumbling for the light switch on the wall. “Oh really? I couldn’t tell.”

Jeonghan growls a little at Chan’s playfulness, but slips the backpack off his shoulders and rests it against a shelf of cleaning supplies. As the lights stiltedly flicker to life, he can finally see the boy who is holding him. 

Jeonghan’s wearing old jeans and t-shirt worn enough to be pyjamas, as if it’s high-end fashion. Which, with his bare golden skin and dark arching brows, is persuasive enough for Chan. The four silver bands on his long fingers press into Chan’s nape, tilts his head, lures him in. Jeonghan kisses him, with all the fervour of forty-seven vibrating notifications. Jeonghan nips at Chan’s bottom lip; curls his hand over his hip. Chan is more than distracted by the consuming of him and misses whatever Jeonghan’s mumbling into his mouth. 

“Huh?” He turns his head, taking a dizzying breath. 

“I said, it’s bad to skip classes. School is important,” Jeonghan says, meeting eyes. 

Chan laughs and hits his shoulder with no conviction, the older simply reattaching his lips to the join at the base of his neck. “You were the one pestering me!”

Jeonghan tuts against his skin, the sensation sending shivers to his finger tips. “I wouldn’t have if I knew you’d be focusing. Takes two to tango, ecetera, ecetera.”

Chan’s fingers find purchase in Jeonghan’s hair, massaging where the dark roots are starting to show at the base of his skull. “Impossible to tell that without texting me. And I didn’t even reply. I could have been raptly engaged.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes, running his thumb over the pinkening patch by Chan’s neck as if admiring his handiwork. The width of his palm is a warm block on his shoulder. “It’s first year ethics of healthcare. No one pays attention.” 

He’s adopted the voice he uses for talking to Chan’s fellow first years in the GSA, the one he uses when he talks to his sister on the phone. Chan hates it, despite knowing entirely why the automatic change happens. He’s a semester away from graduation, a dizzily terrifying truth Chan hasn’t yet adjusted to. It’s not as if Jeonghan will immediately cease to exist at the end of the school year, but the notion of dating a post-graduate by second year isn’t exactly something Chan had envisioned in his life plan. Even still, Jeonghan managed to coil him into an unchartable orbit; a whirlwind of skillful hands, coy conductive words in public and soft loving worship alone. Still, despite his efforts to build rapport with Jeonghan’s friends, he’s had to grit teeth through the cooing and censorship, as if he isn’t an adult all the same. It’s bearable, with Jeonghan’s protective palm flat on the small of his back, but it stings more when the patronising tone comes directly from his mouth. 

Jeonghan nips at his ear to get his attention, drawing him out of his thoughts. “I came here for your full attention,” he whines in a whisper, “Penny for your thoughts?”

Chan hadn’t noticed when Jeonghan slipped a leg between his, but now that he has, the weight of Jeonghan’s body against his is distracting enough. He keens, embarrassingly, in place of reply; as satisfying it appears to be for Jeonghan, the older still pulls back and links their fingers. 

His eyes are focused with a different goal, “Not until you tell me what’s up.”

Chan ducks his head, his nose slotting into the hollow of Jeonghan’s neck, and exhales. Jeonghan’s spare hand comes to rest at the crown of Chan’s head, nestled into the bleached ash-blond hair. “I know I can be dumb at times but I’m not a child,” he mutters into Jeonghan’s t-shirt, but the room’s acoustics do little to muffle the sound. 

Jeonghan just hums, the sound low in his throat and warm on Chan’s hair. “I know. I don’t mean to make you feel that way.”

Chan tilts himself in Jeonghan’s arms, forehead neat against his neck. Jeonghan’s eyes are deep and caring, and whilst Chan knows it’s not burdensome to be honest, Jeonghan’s willingness to listen is almost overwhelming. “You don’t often. It just sometimes feels like… I don’t know…” he trails off. Jeonghan just rubs slow circles into his scalp. “Sorta feels like you’ll snap out of it one day and realise you can have more than just me.”

Jeonghan loses his tenderness, just a little, and pinches the flesh above his belt. “Hey! Don’t you trust your hyung? If I thought like that, I would’ve gotten rid of you when you cried the first time you got below 80% on that group assignment.” 

Chan smiles, lifting his head, “Yeah, and now I don’t even attend classes; some influence you are.”

Jeonghan bats at his shoulder but the grin he mirrors is void of the worry from before. “Uni is important! Don’t say it like that.”

“Hmm sure,” Chan hums, drawing his boyfriend closer by a belt loop and shoulder. Less of an orbit, more of a dance— two magnets on one plane. “That’s _exactly_ the message you’re embodying.”

It’s nearing ten am on a Thursday, but time fails to register in Chan’s mind; adoring Jeonghan, consuming him, is all he can think of — the hint of dirty chai latte on his lips, the bump on his nose, the divot of his wrist. There’s incomplete friction of denim, and a heat coiling in his gut, but Chan isn’t hurried, isn’t desperate. The incentive lies in the spaces between, not a destination. 

“A physio should be good with his hands, right?” Jeonghan mutters into his lips, tampering into a moan as Chan’s hands slip lower to knead the back of Jeonghan's thighs. “Think of this as tutoring.”

Chan laughs into him, Jeonghan following, and there’s an elevated intimacy in holding each other with no space and only happiness between them. Then his phone buzzes once more in his bag, and Jeonghan turns green with affronted envy. It’s a cute enough display that Chan lifts onto tiptoe to peck his furrowed brow, before squatting to pull out the offending object. It’s a text, thankfully only one, from Seungkwan, a speechie in his year who he apparently promised to go to lunch with before their lecture this afternoon. Jeonghan pulls him to his feet again to tuck his chin on Chan’s shoulder and read the text. The pout that forms changes the way his cheek presses against Chan’s. 

“That’s your cue, Mr Popular.” Jeonghan is only downspirited maybe a slight bit, the rest is pure theatrics; Chan indulges anyway. 

“Whatever will I do without your lips on mine?” Chan fakes a struggled gasp, as if lost for air. Jeonghan simply opens the door with a click and an eye-roll, and pushes the younger, whose arm is still inside and fumbling to get a grasp on his backpack, down the corridor. When Jeonghan turns to leave the opposite way, Chan takes his chance to tug him back. “See you tonight, _baby_.”

Jeonghan’s a little red once their lips part, almost as if he doesn’t know what to do without the upper hand over Chan. Chan likes the sight. 

(If he’s being truthful, Chan just really likes Jeonghan.)

**Author's Note:**

> also i know i have other wips but i just graduated school so i’m planning to write more!


End file.
